A Different A Gender
by Gary Merchant
Summary: The third Doctor is on a mission for the Time Lords, but first he has to adopt a rather unusual disguise. Cowritten with my friend Sceadu.


A DIFFERENT A GENDER

In a darkened room, three figures sat before a beam of suffused light. A whispered chant echoed around them. "Fire comes, fire burns, fire brings the light." The mantra was repeated over and over, until the beam's radiance was spent. Then the leader of the three spoke. "My brothers, our time will soon be at hand. And we shall leave nothing but chaos in our wake."

The Doctor walked casually towards the large green obelisk that had materialised in the middle of the purple desert where he found himself abandoned. "I hope the natives are friendly," he mumbled to himself.

Smoothing down his red smoking jacket, the Doctor's mind flashed back over recent events - one moment he had been in the UNIT lab, working on one of his pet projects, and then some form of transmat beam had delivered him here to this supposedly empty desert.

He was puzzled as well by the fact that he wasn't wearing his own face or body. His clothes hung loose on him, while his usual mop of white hair and beaky nose had been replaced by an altogether more unexpected appearance. A swift glance at his hands only confirmed his suspicions. Suddenly a door opened in the green obelisk and a very familiar figure stepped out, took one look at the Doctor in his new body, and allowed himself a wry smile. "Hello, Madame le Doctor. You look a little different since the last time we met."

The Doctor sighed, recognising the Time Lord. "Oh no, not you!" Even his voice had changed to a softer, more feminine lilt. And though he hadn't yet seen his face, he could feel that the skin was smoother and younger. He was tempted to ask what was going on, but had a vague idea already. "You've really gone too far this time! I suppose you want me to undertake another covert mission?"

"Well, it's not exactly discreet," said the CIA agent with a smirk. He handed the Doctor a Gladstone bag. "Inside you will find all the documents necessary for your mission, and your costume."

"Costume?" asked the Doctor.

The agent laughed again and quicker than the blink of an eye the Doctor found that he had been transported again to a new location. He took a moment to look around and bristled with fury at what was before him. "I can't believe they've left me in such a humiliating position."

"Allo luv," said a big, burley, unkempt man with a squint and a wooden leg. He was slobbering under the influence of the flask of whisky in his hand and looking up at the Doctor from a row of shabby theatre seats. "Well, you're 'ere to audition aincha? Get ya togs on and get on wiv it."

"Audition?" The Doctor was alone on a bare stage, and though the gloom could see a line of girls waiting their turn. "Oh yes, of course." Thinking fast, he used the Gladstone bag as a prop, and slipping into a cockney accent, gave a rousing rendition of Don't Dilly Dally On The Way. "Sorry, I don't have my costume ready yet," he said after he'd finished. "Have I got the job?"

The unkempt man scratched his face. "Yeah, you'll do," he muttered. "But you'd better lose that posh accent of yours, double quick. Ms Bentley won't be too keen."

"Ms Bentley. Ah, right." The Doctor was directed toward the dressing rooms at the back of the stage. As he wound his way through, his eyes fell on a theatrical poster, giving the name of the theatre as the Royalty. It also gave top billing to a Ms Gloria Bentley - The Songstress of South London. The Doctor took in his immediate surroundings. "Not the grandest of theatres," he decided, "but needs must."

The Doctor made his way along a dark and dingy corridor, littered with rubbish and discarded costumes and props. He came to the dressing room and opened the door tentatively. The room was empty of people but full of elaborate costumes. He spotted a copy of a Newspaper on a seat in front of a large mirror and walked over to pick it up. "Hmm, 1911 - a good year."

The Doctor then looked up and was shocked to see himself in the mirror. Still in his velvet jacket and frilly shirt, an unfamiliar face stared back at him. He was looking at a young woman of about 19 years of age, with copious blond hair tied up in a very Edwardian bun. "Oh dear, that's not me at all," said the Doctor, aware that his voice was not his own either.

The process of gender swap was not unusual on Gallifrey, but with Time Lords and Gallifreyans alike usually content with their lot when born from the Loom, the actual practice of changing gender was a rare one. And now the Doctor had been forced to undergo the process - but while he didn't normally bother about having to blend in wherever he travelled, he had to concede that it was a necessity on this occasion. With a sigh, he opened the Gladstone bag and pulled out the clothing contained inside. Inner and outer garments were included, leaving the Doctor puzzling over just what some of them were, and more importantly, how to wear them.

By a process of elimination, he at last succeeded in dressing himself, swapping his usual attire for a full length dress with matching shoes, stockings and other bits and pieces he wasn't altogether sure about. Before studying the mission documents, the Doctor first read through his cover story. His name was to be Edna Pollock, and a room had been left for him at a boarding house run by a Mrs Briggs. Right, he decided. On to the boarding house first, then the mission.

One of the girls from the chorus line stopped him as he was making his way out of the theatre. "You're not a bad singer," she said, "but what was it with the frilly jacket and trousers?"

"Mum had always wanted a boy," he replied, squeezing past the girl.

The Doctor knew the streets of London very well and found the lodging house very easily, even if he found the walk troublesome in his heels. The house was a typically cheap London boarding house, complete with rotting windows and crumbling bricks. The door opened and a shabby looking woman poked out her head. Her hair was wrapped up in a scarf and she was so short that her eyes were level with the Doctor's breasts. "Oi, get inside," said the woman with an insistent tone as she grabbed hold of the Doctor and pulled him inside.

The Doctor tumbled into the hall and stood befuddled and bewildered but the woman's commanding tone. The interior was decked out in a shabby Edwardian style and the floor hadn't been swept in weeks. "Now Thete, get yourself in the kitchen and we can have a brew and talk about your mission."

The Doctor was startled by the woman's use of his old nickname. "Do I know you?"

"It's me, Commander Braxatiroak. Remember, I knocked you on the head with the sonic probe during that game of Hoot-Monk on your first day at the Prydonian Academy," the woman smiled. "But just call me Mrs Briggs here, especially in front of the other guests." The Doctor followed her to the kitchen where he sat down at a worn wooden table, while Mrs Briggs poured a helping of tea into a cracked mug. "Sorry about the facilities, but I've had to blend in here just like you."

The Doctor nodded. "Another gender swap?"

"My fourth," Mrs Briggs declared. "Not that one ever gets used to it." There was a subtle shift from the persona of Mrs Briggs to that of Braxatiroak. "Now then, Thete…"

He raised a hand. "Just Doctor, if you don't mind."

"As you wish," the Commander agreed. "It seems there's a time distortion due to occur in the next two days – one that could split the timeline and create a parallel universe."

"Such things have happened before," the Doctor noted. "What makes this one so different?"

"The severity of the distortion," Braxatiroak replied. "If allowed to go unchecked, then this new universe could become the dominant one over the original. As far as the CIA can tell, this other universe has the potential to be a warlike one. In time, the end result would see its eventual destruction."

The Doctor was appalled. "What form does the distortion take?"

"We don't know," Braxatiroak admitted. "All we know is that the primary focus will be the Royalty Theatre, and that's why your services are needed, Doctor. You're able to interact with these humans with no apparent effort. Some might say you're more human than Time Lord."

"I hope that's not a criticism," the Doctor said. "It was the Time Lords who exiled me to Earth in first place, as you well know."

"An exile which has since been lifted," Braxatiroak reminded him. "Though you still choose to remain on this backwater of a planet. Why?"

The Doctor rubbed his neck. "I supposed it's become a sort of second home, if you like."

"I can't pretend to understand you, Doctor, but your prolonged involvement with these humans singles you out as a special case," the Commander informed him. "We need you to integrate with the people at the Theatre, learn all you can, and if possible, prevent the split of the timeline."

The Doctor sipped at his tea, pondering. "It won't be easy, you know. It's not as if we know who, or what the primary focus will be."

"Then you will help?"

"Not that I've any real choice in the matter," he replied, "but yes, of course I'll help. Now, I believe I have lodgings here?"

"A shillin' a week," Mrs Briggs barked, slipping into his/her Earth persona. "Take it or leave it, ducks."

Back in the Theatre something ancient was rumbling in the bowls of the building. "Oooo, me aching gut," said the burley, unkempt man with a squint and a wooden leg who had earlier auditioned the Doctor.

"That'll teach you for eating a whole one in one go," said Ms Bentley to her groaning companion.

"But she looked so tasty," he replied.

Ms Bentley shook her head in humoured despair. Her companion, Mr Royce, was rough and greedy but he also amused her and she was very fond of him in a maternal kind of way. "How old are you now?" she asked in her schoolmarm manner.

"I'm nearly 250 now," replied Royce proudly.

"Then you're old enough to know not to eat a whole chorus girl in one go." Mr Royce looked down at his feet in embarrassment. He admired Ms Bentley a lot and not just because she was five times his age. "Now where the devil is Mr Rolls?" she asked. "He was supposed to be here ages ago with the temporal shift generator."

"Perhaps he stopped for a quick snack," pondered Royce.

Bentley shrugged. "Oh I hope not. His route takes him past the Palace, and the last thing we need is another missing Guardsman."

"So, do we have any idea of who may be doing this?" asked the Doctor.

"None," said Mrs Briggs. "But there are lot of humans going missing near that theatre."

"What's happening to them?" asked the Doctor.

"This," said Mrs Briggs as she pulled a large bone out from under the table and placed it in front of the Doctor. The bone was clearly human and was covered in teeth marks. No trace of flesh remained - the bone had been picked clean.

"Carnivores," the Doctor noted, studying the bone. "Of alien origin, no doubt."

Mrs Briggs nodded. "The Police are treating the disappearances seriously - there have even been one or two outside the parameters of the Theatre - but I don't think they're equipped to deal with something like this."

"Quite right," the Doctor agreed. "Well, I'm off to my room. The sooner I get settled in, the quicker I can return to the Theatre and start a proper investigation."

"You'll find the window overlooks the Theatre," Mrs Briggs informed him. "And be careful, Doctor. You'll be as much a target as the rest of those unfortunates."

He nodded, his eyes drawn to the human bone. "Thank you for the warning."

The room was small, but perfectly serviceable, the Doctor noted, as he unpacked his Gladstone bag, transferring the clothing to a threadbare wardrobe. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, considering the facts before him. Alien carnivores, possibly with time travel abilities, and a potential split in time. Until he knew otherwise, he had to assume there was a connection. With a sigh, he pulled on his high heels and prepared to cross the road to the Royalty Theatre. The final house was due to start in an hour's time, and it wouldn't do to be late. Though he wasn't due to start until the next day, tonight would be an ideal time to memorise the layout of the theatre.

He skidded a couple of times across the cobbles as he crossed the road, wondering just how Jo Grant managed to walk without crippling herself in those platform boots of hers. "Ay ay, you're keen," said the burley Mr Royce, as the Doctor arrived outside the stage door.

"I just thought I'd catch tonight's show, if that's all right," the Time Lord explained. "See what's expected of me."

Royce nodded. "You're a smart girl. Pretty too." He made to touch the slim waist, only to have his hand slapped away.

"Naughty," the Doctor chided. "You'll get me a reputation."

The backstage area of the Theatre was busy with the hullabaloo that would be expected before a big show. The Doctor made his way carefully to the Chorus Girls' dressing room and knocked on the door. "Come in," said a commanding voice.

The Doctor stepped in and found himself amongst a crowd of noisy girls pulling on the final tassels and sequins of their elaborate costumes. "Ah, you're the new girl are you?" said a stern looking woman in a prim dress and pearls, standing motionless among the girls

"Yes, Miss," said the Doctor trying to act as demurely as possible. "Edna Pollock, Miss."

"I'm Ms Bentley, you can call me Madam," She looked at the Doctor sternly. "Mr Royce tells me you turned up in male dress. We could do with our own Ella Shields."

The Doctor thought for a moment. "Oh, Burlington Bertie, yes. That's the sort of thing I could do."

"That's settled then," said Ms Bentley. "Just as well, you don't have the legs for the chorus line."

The Doctor looked down at his new legs and sighed.

Down a dark and dank alley, a small man with perfect white teeth and a brown bowler hat pulled his raincoat around himself and scuffled nonchalantly up to a Policeman patrolling the damp streets around the Theatre. "Officer, there's something I need to show you."

"Oh, allo Mr Rolls, ow are ya," said the Policeman.

"Oh I'm fine officer," Mr Rolls' smile was as slimy as his voice. "It's just there's a rather distressed young gentleman down the alley and I thought I should show you."

"Of course, lead the way." The Policeman followed Mr Rolls down the alley. At first, all he could see was a pair of polished boots sticking out from behind a few barrels. Then, when he turned to see what was on the other side, he staggered back in shock. What he saw was the half devoured remains of a young man in a military uniform.

"Well, he was distressed," said Mr Rolls before sinking his teeth into the Policeman.

From the wings, the Doctor was watching the show. And he had to admit that the shabbiness of the venue did nothing to detract from the enthusiasm of the performers. From the top of the bill to the girls in the chorus, everyone was giving their all. And each act was greeted by huge rounds of applause from a capacity audience. "Great, isn't it?" He turned to see the girl he'd met earlier outside the dressing room. She seemed as taken with the show as he was. "It might not be the grandest place, but we get full houses every night."

The Doctor could well believe it. The audience were clearly lapping up every act, from comedians to singers. "Even so," he ventured, "it must be hard to get the punters in sometimes, what with the boys in blue snooping about."

"Oh, those disappearances you mean," the girl said. "Well, it's a fact of life, isn't it? When it comes down to it, you either hide away in the back room, or carry on as normal. Y'can't let some lowlife tell you what to do."

The Doctor smiled. "Oh, I don't know. What about Mr Royce?"

The girl was taken aback for a moment. "That's different - he's management!" Then she thought for a moment, and she let a small chuckle escape. "Oh, you're a sharp one, Edna. But you want to stay on the right side of Mr Royce, even if he isn't one of life's gentlemen."

"That's putting it mildly," said the Doctor. "Still, I suppose it is his theatre."

"Oh no," the girl corrected him. "No, they've only got this place on loan, him and Mr Rolls." The Doctor let the obvious joke pass, as she continued. "They're here on a short term contract. That's how they operate, taking the same show around the country. And Ms Bentley is their resident star."

"You seem to know an awful lot about what happens here," the Doctor noted.

She shrugged. "When you don't know when your next show's going to be, it pays to keep your ear to the ground."

Just then, one of the chorus girls grabbed her. "Come on, Lottie. We'll be on soon."

She trotted off, giving the Doctor a friendly wave, and leaving him with more to think about.

Royce was waiting at the stage door when he saw Mr Rolls swaggering along the street. Cursing, Royce moved quicker than his bulk would have suggested to intercept his partner. Gripping him by the shoulders, he could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Urrgh, you stink!"

"Not my fault, old man," Rolls protested. "How was I to know my last victim had partaken of the demon drink?" He gave a drunken sniff. "I could report that policeman for being drunk on duty, you know."

"Give me strength!" Royce slammed him against the wall. "Are you trying to jeopardise the whole operation? We all need to be alert when the time comes."

"Don't presume to lecture me, old sport." Rolls' words still came out slurred. "I'll be fine, don't you worry."

The show was now long over and most of the cast had made their way off in to the night, heading to lodgings and pubs across the cheaper areas of London. The Doctor meanwhile had discreetly hidden himself away in a dark and ignored corner of the warren of corridors that ran through the Theatre.

When he was sure that the place was deserted he slipped out from his hiding place and began to search for any signs of alien activity. A couple of hours passed, with the Doctor using an ancient torch to search even the most dilapidated corners of the building.

He was about to give up in desperation when he heard a strange and unearthly sound. It was a high wailing that was like the nighttime howls of stray cats but mingled with something more metallic. The sound was coming from the very bottom of the building. Slowly, and with a growing sense of that something very dangerous was waiting for him, the Doctor descended the stairs down to the cellars.

The wailing grew louder with every step the Doctor took. Edging past long forgotten scenery flats, he was drawn to a dull light that grew brighter the closer he ventured. And now the wailing was intermingled with a chanted mantra. "Fire comes, fire burns, fire brings the light." This was repeated over and over. Switching off the torch, the Doctor secreted himself inside a dilapidated magician's cabinet, with a series of slits where swords would have been plunged through, the slits permitting a clear view without the risk of being discovered.

Now the Doctor could clearly see - three cowled figures sitting cross-legged around a piece of equipment the Doctor recognised, despite its age. "A time cone inverter," he gasped. From the inverter came a beacon of light, which bathed the immediate area in a suffusion of protonic energy.

The central figure was undoubtedly that of Gloria Bentley. "Fire comes, fire burns, fire brings the light," she repeated again. Then she closed the aperture to the inverter, and the unnatural light was extinguished. "The time is almost at hand," she muttered to herself, and expression of contentment on her face. "Soon there will be an end to this world, and a new era of chaos will begin."

"Thank goodness that's over," said Mr Rolls, removing his cowl. "Time for tea?"

"Oh all right," said Ms Bentley. "But only a small one between the three of us, we don't want to spoil our appetites before the chaos."

Mr Royce was rubbing his hands in glee as Mr Rolls disappeared into a hidden part of the cellar. "Will the chaos be really... chaotic?" Royce asked Bentley.

"Oh yes," she replied. "The chaos will bring down all order. The Universe will be in turmoil. War will rage and our people will have the greatest feast of our lives."

Mr Rolls reappeared with something in his arms. It was a body, a young girl. The Doctor looked closer. It was Lottie, the girl he had been talking to in the wings. "Is she still alive?" asked Royce.

"Oh yes," replied Rolls.

"Well, wake her up, they taste better when they scream," said Bentley, suddenly as ravenous as her younger companions.

"Unhand her," hollered the Doctor from inside his box.

The three of them spun around as the door to the cabinet flew open. Their momentary surprise at the Doctor's arrival then turned to excitement. "How wonderful," Bentley cooed. "Dessert too."

"And served in its own presentation box, how thoughtful," agreed Rolls.

"I'm no one's dessert, madam," said the Doctor, standing his ground. "Now, unhand that girl, before I do something you may regret."

Royce's eyes gleamed. "Such fire," he said. "I shall enjoy tasting her." He reached out for a slender arm, only to be pulled forward and have his own arm twisted behind his back. Then Royce felt himself propelled through the air towards his fellow conspirators, falling to the floor in an undignified heap.

The Doctor had barely time to catch his breath before Rolls was upon him, having manoeuvred himself to a position behind the Time Lord. "Stay still, little minx."

"Not today, thank you," the Doctor replied. With a cry of 'Hai!' he shifted his body so that Rolls' weight now worked against him, and was thrown forward to land on top of the fallen Royce. "I did warn you," he said.

Bentley looked from her fallen comrades to the Doctor. "You're no chitterling," she remarked. "What are you?"

"I should ask you the same question," the Doctor countered.

"I'm the mother of invention, or so I'm told," said Bentley with a cruel smile.

The Doctor's brow furrowed in bafflement, he was aware of the old earth phrase Bentley was referencing. "Necessity?"

"Need's must," she said with another smirk.

"I'm sorry, I really don't know what the devil you are on about."

"Think about it," Bentley seemed satisfied by the confusion she was creating. "What does the common phrase mean?"

The Doctor considered the question. "Well, the dictionary definition would say that a need or problem encourages creative efforts to meet the need or solve the problem."

"Indeed," said Bentley. "Whenever a civilisation stagnates, I am there. Whenever it needs a shot in the arm, I am there. Chaos is the greatest cause of invention and progress."

"What, you believe that old nonsense that progress is at its fastest during war?" said the Doctor angrily.

"No, that nonsense was inspired by my achievements," She was almost proud. "From the Dark Ages of Skaro to the Great wars of early Gallifrey. I was there, prodding the chaos along."

"Why, so you can help them to progress?" the Doctor could not believe what he was hearing.

"That, and to feast on the countless casualties. The victims of war and chaos are marinated in fear and taste divine."

"So you create chaos and terror, war and famine to 'help'?"

"And to feed my family," Bentley pointed to Rolls and Royce. "Everybody wins."

The Doctor shuddered and stepped forward. "But not this time. This time I'm here to stop you."

"But who _are_ you?" Bentley seemed to sniff the air. "I can smell the vortex on you. The taint of Rassilon's people. You are a Time Lord."

He nodded, realising the need for deception was at an end. "I'm known as the Doctor. Sorry to spoil the party, but I'm here to save this universe, and put an end to your plans in the process."

By now, Royce and Rolls had pulled themselves to their feet. "You?" said Royce. "A mere slip of a girl?"

"Appearances can be deceptive, old chap." From the corner of his eye, the Doctor could see Lottie coming to. "What I don't understand is why you've come here, to this point in space and time." Then the answer hit him. "The First World War. But that's years away."

"And Earth is almost ready to descend into its own chaos," Bentley confirmed. "However, the time distortion will see that War brought forward in time, and our actions will escalate the scale of its atrocities."

"So many casualties," Rolls brightened at the thought. "So much death and carnage. It will be a glorious sight, don'cha know." An unexpected rumble of thunder echoed around them. But this was no ordinary thunderstorm.

The Doctor recognised the warning signs all too well. "It's started. The time distortion is about to break through."

The increasing tremors from inside the theatre brought Lottie to her feet, and she ran past Bentley and the rest toward the Doctor. "What's going on, Edna? Is it an earthquake?"

"It's far worse than that." He appealed to Bentley one last time. "This has to be stopped. There's no need for any of this to happen."

"There is every need, Doctor," Bentley insisted. "The chaos brought about today will feed our peoples for many years. It will be a glorious feast." Royce brought forward the temporal shift generator, connecting it to the time cone inverter.

"Wait," said a commanding voice. Everyone turned to see Mrs Briggs standing at the top of the stairs with what looked like a rolling pin and a handbag in her hands.

"Old woman, what do you expect to be able to do to stop us?" said Bentley.

"I'm not an old woman." With that, the Time Lord that had been living as Mrs Briggs reverted to his regular, male body.

"I must say old chap, that dress doesn't suit you," said the Doctor, looking at his old friend Braxatiroak, still in his now inappropriate female dress.

Braxatiroak looked down sadly. "Well, the converter doesn't stretch to clothing." With that, he pressed a button on a device pulled out of his handbag and the Doctor instantly reverted to his own male body, splitting open his now too small high heels in the process.

"Bother, I was getting the hang of them," blurted the Doctor.

Lottie stared at him in shock, her friend Edna having apparently vanished. "Ere, what's goin' on?"

"No time to explain, Lottie," he replied. "There's the small matter of a Universe to save first." He kicked off his now too small shoes as Royce and Rolls advanced once more. This time, Braxatiroak was there to even up the odds, but both Time Lords realised this was a delaying tactic to prevent them from stopping Bentley achieving her aims. Added to that, Royce and Rolls had been galvanised into action, as they bared their fangs, determined to stop the two Time Lords at any cost.

Bentley, meanwhile, was centralising the protonic beam emanating from the time cone inverter, with the temporal shift generator providing a focal axis point for the time distortion to come. The tremors increased in strength as the protonic beam generated more power. "Just a matter of moments," she breathed.

Lottie stood to one side, unable to take in what was happening. Her friend Edna had gone, replaced by some old bloke who was now fighting with Royce and Rolls, helped by another stranger. And then there was Ms Bentley, standing over some strange metal contraptions that meant nothing to her. But the man who had been Edna said something about saving the Universe.

For a moment, she was uncertain about what to do, but Lottie Ford was determined not to let her, now lost, friend Edna down. In her bare feet and with an agility you could only expect from a dancer, Lottie managed to skim around the edge of the battle between the Doctor, Braxatiroak and the Rolls Royce duo. While the four men were otherwise engaged, Lottie threw herself towards Ms Bentley with more force than she had imagined she could manage. Bentley was taken by surprise and went hurtling towards a nearby wall, as the temporal shift generator hit the floor and shattered, its protonic beam extinguished.

"You little fool," Bentley snarled. "You have no idea what you've done." She launched herself at Lottie, who quickly thrust her knee into Bentley's groin, knocking the wind out of her and leaving her doubled up in agony, as she slumped to the floor.

Encouraged by this, the Doctor brought his Venusian neck pinch into play, immobilising Royce, while Rolls was eventually felled by a blow from Braxatiroak's rolling pin. "Well done, everyone," the Doctor beamed.

"Always do what you do best, that what my Mum said," Lottie grinned.

Braxatiroak quickly examined the machinery. "We still have a problem," he said. "The universe is safe, but with the time cone inverter still active, its effects could still wreak havoc on this world if the time disruption isn't checked."

The Doctor felt inside his voluminous skirts and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. "I never go anywhere without it," he said. "Now, if I can just invert the time cone's polarity, it should draw back the energy into itself."

Lottie looked from the Doctor to Braxatiroak. "Do you understand what he just said?"

The Commander nodded. "The Doctor knows what he's doing - I hope."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, old chap." He stepped back, satisfied. "Yes, that should do it." The hum of the inverter had indeed altered, as it struggled to accommodate the continuing energy build up." There'll just be a localised explosion," the Doctor explained." So I think we should kindly leave the stage."

Hitching up their skirts, and with Braxatiroak leading the way, the Doctor took Lottie's hand as the three of them hurried to the stairs leading up to ground level.

Bentley stirred briefly, seeing the shattered remains of the temporal shift generator, and with it, the end of her dreams. "So close," she muttered. "So close."

And then the time cone inverter exploded.

Some time later, the Doctor and Braxatiroak were sitting at the kitchen table of what had been Mrs Briggs lodging house. The Doctor was now back in his familiar smoking jacket and frilly shirt, and enjoying a welcome mug of tea with Braxatiroak. Lottie was upstairs having a well-earned nap. "So, what happens to Bentley, Rolls and Royce?" asked the Doctor.

"Well, they survived the explosion, so I imagine the CIA will have picked them up by now and be on their way to one of the prison ships," said Braxatiroak. "And with no more disappearances to speak of, the Police will let the matter drop in the next few days."

"Leaving no loose ends for the CIA to clear up." The Doctor downed the last of his tea. "Well, now that that's all over, I would be most grateful if you could arrange to get me back to my TARDIS and UNIT HQ."

"Ah." Braxatiroak smiled. "It may not be that simple."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you've done so well, as has Miss Lottie Ford." Braxatiroak seemed smug. "You both proved most useful, and ever since young Miss Grant left for the upper reaches of the Amazon, you seem to have been without assistance."

The Doctor could see where this was leading. "Now, just a moment. You can't just dump some poor girl on me and send us both off into the temporal..." before he could finish his sentence he felt the now familiar transmat beam envelop him... and the Doctor found himself inside the TARDIS, the coordinates set for a location he did not recognise, and with Lottie asleep in an ornate chair on the other side of the console room.

The decision, it seemed, had already been made for him. "Bother," he said.


End file.
